The Untold Story of a Dancer
by Jiinelle
Summary: The untold story of a dancer. Situated in the "Harrison Bergeron" universe, a short story written by Kurt Vonnegut. One-Shot.


**Please note, I do not own this universe/storyline, with the exception of a few characters. All other characters and plot are based on the short story "Harrison Bergeron" and belong to Kurt Vonnegut.**

BANG!

And two silver bullets pierced through the beautiful dancer and her new-found emperor. Down their lifeless bodies went, hitting the evil handicaps they had discarded earlier, in their fit of prowess.

The masked dancers, who were just mere seconds ago entranced with the beauty of the emperors, scattered in a flash. The show would go on, they would return to their graceful positions and begin the dance once more. All equally beautiful, behind disfigured masks, not a single individual would ever see what was behind the masks, for they would put an end to their lives if they could realize just how unfair the world is.

The dance had ended. Varying pairs of pointe-shoe clad feet moved hurriedly towards the confining dressing rooms. With exception of a pair, which had noticeably larger handicaps than the rest of them. This peculiar dancer hurried towards the lonely exit, the whole theater had an almost pernicious aura.

The beastly weights on her feet and shoulders seemed to be carried with such ease by the masked dancer. She made no sound of struggle as she hurried along the sidewalk, presumably headed towards the unknown alleys of the city. Her small frame roamed around endless blocks, she seemed to have passed her destination a few times; The small radio in her ear kept her from thinking too hard about it, but her mind wandered about in the memory of the incident that had happened earlier.

Abruptly, her fatigued feet came to a stop, and she clutched her head, a particularly annoying sound blared in her ear. She trembled faintly.

It was not once, not twice, but thrice that the disturbing sound reached her ears, with its screeching and a tone that was brassy and stridulous in nature. It was then that she could not bear it anymore. In the middle of the lonesome street, where only sounds from the next TV show to air could be heard, she lost herself. Rather, she lost who she was required to be. It was the law.

The ballerina's hand reached over to the back of her head, where the radio handicap had its weakest point. She gripped the metallic band that had been on her head for as long as she could remember and pulled with everything she had. It hurt. It hurt so bad, the dancer flinched at the striking pain, until at last the malicious handicap came off.

Her quiet sobs could be heard throughout the neighborhood, like how you would notice the TV's bright screen change as a new program began, just as you were falling into a deep slumber. When that happens, you're either too exhausted to care, or you sit up in your bed to do something about it and realize how eerie your room is.

The neighborhood was too exhausted to care. No more would the ballerina hear those shrilling sounds, blaring in her ear.

Her tears were bittersweet. She knew she would die soon, though her taste of this newfound liberty had lasted longer than most. It certainly didn't quite have the feeling she would've hoped for.

There was no reeling, flouncing, prancing. There was no urge to prance away full of happiness and courage, not a soul was there to kiss the ceiling with her in celebration of a new era. Instead, there was guilt. How could she have done this? Would her punishment be worse if she took off the rest of her handicaps?

Not even a second had passed before she had made her decision. She tried standing up once more. All of a sudden, her burdensome weights seemed a lot heavier than they had been before. She didn't even try to lift herself up any further, her knees buckled under the weight of the handicaps.

She was so worn out, but even as she was collapsed on the ground, crumbling under her own weight, the dancer managed to detach her handicaps from her feet and back, as well as remove her hideous mask. Behind it was delicate, yet stunning features.

It had been so long since she had removed her pointe shoes. At first, it was her passion that drove her, but with the passing of time, putting on shows for the people behind the TV screens would become a chore, and her shoes would transform into her shackles.

So lost in thought she had been, that she did not notice a figure slowly approaching her from behind.

BANG!

Too bad.

It's not important if it's not on TV.


End file.
